


Permanent

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Ineffable Husbands + Livinia [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol, And she ships it, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a mess, Crying, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Historical References, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Livinia is a good friend, M/M, Marriage, Original Character(s), Pining, Spanish Inquisition, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: “D’you know which angel I wanna kiss?”“Can I have three guesses?”“’s Aziraphale.”“You don’t say.”A few times in history when Crowley loved Aziraphale.





	1. Loved You Then

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a gif on tumblr (which can be found at https://theladyzephyr.tumblr.com/post/185495380992/were-on-our-own-side-good-omens-2019-send). I enjoy the line and think it's really appropriate for this pairing, so I based this fic on it. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions are greatly appreciated! I am especially interested in what people think of my OC, Livinia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley runs into Livinia, a fellow demon, and Aziraphale in early 16th century Spain, and performs a little miracle to help his angel out.

Medina del Campo, Spain, 1502

Crowley had liked Spain once. He didn't really like it anymore. He didn't think it would ever be able to redeem itself in his eyes after this whole Inquisition business. 

He supposed there was still a lot to like about it - plenty of nice palaces, for one thing, and an abundance of art, plus a history of making good alcohol. But all that could be found elsewhere, too. Italy, for instance. And it wasn't that nothing terrible had ever happened in Italy; terrible things happened everywhere, as far as Crowley could tell. Humans were incredibly creative when it came to doing terrible things to each other, and they never seemed to require much of a reason, either. The Inquisition, though, stood out in Crowley's mind, partly because he'd claimed to be responsible for it - Hell had been quite impressed with that, and they hadn't bothered to question whether or not it was true. In point of fact, Crowley had found out about it secondhand, as it were, and as soon as he'd seen what was going on in person he'd drunk for a week solid and then slept for two. He hadn't been a fan of Spain ever since.

Demons didn't generally dream, because demons didn't generally sleep, but Crowley had had nightmares during that two-week nap. He couldn't seem to shake the images of people getting tortured out of his head. And the fact that Hell thought _he_ had been behind it all - it was difficult to stomach. He hadn't been up to much corrupting or tempting of humans lately - enjoying the earth too much, if he was being honest - and when Hell had assumed that something as awful as the Spanish Inquisition must surely be a demon's work, he hadn't corrected them. The only demon who didn't seem to believe him was Livinia, a long-time acquaintance of his who occasionally came to visit him on Earth, but she apparently wasn't inclined to say so to the higher-ups, and even if she had been, Crowley doubted they would have paid her any mind.

He'd left Spain shortly after the whole nasty affair had started, and hadn't wanted to ever come back...but recently he'd heard that Aziraphale was there, and that was enough to make him return, even though as far as he knew the torture and executions were still going on years later.

Crowley liked to think that Aziraphale believed it was coincidence that the two of them kept running into each other. That surely couldn't be the case - Aziraphale wasn't stupid - but Crowley hoped he at least hadn't figured out that Crowley sought him out on purpose, again and again, because he wanted, more than anything, to be close to him. Even from thousands of miles away he desired Aziraphale's presence more than booze, more than music, more than thrills, more than nice views, more than anything he'd grown fond of on this magnificent, bizarre planet. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he always went back to Aziraphale.

He was thinking of going for a bit of wine before he started looking for the angel in earnest, when he felt a demonic presence at his side. He turned his head, worried for a moment that it would be someone from the higher ranks of Hell, but it was Livinia.

"Nice dress," Crowley said, looking her up and down. She was wearing a gown of gold and red, and it went very nicely with her hair, which in her current incarnation was a pleasant shade of light brown.

Livinia beamed. "Do you like it? I got it from Queen Isabella. She's actually not a bad mistress, despite how much she likes torturing people. I got a sort of...job as one of her ladies. Been tempting her husband into messing around on her."

"Don't all kings mess around on their wives?"

Livinia winked. "They do when I'm around."

"So is he 'messing around'...with you, then?"

Livinia looked appalled. "Of course not. I _never_ do the lusty work myself. Perish the thought." She shuddered.

"I didn't even know you were up here," Crowley said. "How long have you been out of Hell?"

"Oh, just a few months." She cleared her throat. "I wanted to...punish her, a little."

"The Queen?"

"For ordering this whole Inquisition thing that's been going on. Awful stuff." She looked at Crowley out of the corner of her eye. "And I know you took it hard, when it started."

"I'm the one who started it, remember?"

"Sure, you are. I believe that. Just like I believe you're not here looking for your angel friend."

"He's not my-"

"Lover, I know. Not yet, anyway."

"Livinia!"

"What? I know you better than anyone in Hell, Crowley. You love him."

"Demons don't love."

Livinia rolled her eyes so hard that Crowley saw a flash of their hellish red color. "Don't give me that," she snapped. "It's bollocks, and you know it. If you're going to make stupid generalizations about demons, best not to do it to _other demons who know better_."

Crowley sighed. "You're right. Sorry."

Livinia nodded her acceptance of his apology. "I know where he is, by the way."

Crowley turned to her swiftly. "Where?" he asked eagerly.

Livinia grinned triumphantly. "What was that you said about not being love with him?" she asked.

"Oh, shut up," Crowley said. He'd never actually thought of what he felt for Aziraphale as love before. Probably because that was utterly fucking terrifying. An infatuation was one thing; an infatuation might go away someday. Love wouldn't. And that meant he'd be suffering like this _forever_.

"He's at the palace too," Livinia said. "We actually ran into each other the other day. That's why I was looking for you; I figured you'd be showing up soon." She smiled. "He's kind of the assistant to Pedro de Ayala - that's the ambassador to-"

"Scotland, I know!" Crowley said. "I'm not _that_ oblivious."

"Nice fellow, de Ayala," Livinia commented. "Despite being a bishop. Maybe you and I can distract both of them. You can have the angel, and I'll have the ambassador."

“Thought you didn’t do the lusty work yourself.”

“Oh, this would be for pleasure, not for work.”

“Pretty sure tempting a bishop into lust falls under the category of work for a demon.”

“That’s just lucky,” Livinia said.

"Well, whatever makes you happy," Crowley said. "As long as you're up here, you should be doing something you enjoy. You deserve it after all that time in Hell. How are things down there, anyway?"

"Same as ever. Dark and grimy. Hastur still gets in tetchy moods and indiscriminately sets people on fire. Beelzebub still has a frankly disturbing fascination with inventing new skin ailments and testing them out on unsuspecting demons." She winced. "You remember the pox? I had it for a week."

"Not pleasant."

"No."

Crowley rolled his shoulders. "Well. I'm going to, ah, look up the angel." There was no point in lying to her. "Let's have a drink before you go back to Hell, hm? Catch up?"

"Sure. You can find me at the palace. Ask for Marisol."

_"Marisol?"_

"For my sunny and not-at-all-hellish disposition."

"Right." Crowley couldn't help grinning at her. "Good to see you, Livinia."

"You too. Good luck."

 

* * *

 

Crowley found Aziraphale, unsurprisingly, in the palace library. The angel was looking rather unfairly dashing in his court clothing, and he had on a pair of oversized eyeglasses - for the aesthetic, Crowley assumed. He was bent over a large tome, probably some kind of religious text or a book of prophecy, and didn’t notice Crowley come in.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, rather uncreatively.

Aziraphale looked up, and Crowley’s heart leapt when the angel smiled at him. “Crowley!” he exclaimed. “Why, I haven’t seen you since-”

“1490,” Crowley supplied.

“Has it really been that long? Come in, dear boy; sit down,” Aziraphale said, pushing out a chair for him with his foot. Crowley fell into it.

“How are you?” Aziraphale asked pleasantly. “I bumped into your friend Livinia yesterday; did you know she was here?”

“Yeah, I just saw her.”

“I asked after you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sat up straighter. “You did?” His stomach seemed to flip over. So Aziraphale _did_ think about him between meetings.

“Naturally,” replied Aziraphale. “I was a bit surprised when she told me you were in the country. I thought you’d gone off it a bit after...well, you know.”  
  
Crowley shrugged with forced nonchalance. “You know me. I go where there’s tempting to be done.”

“Right now you’re tempting _me_ to get out of here,” Aziraphale confessed. “I’m working for the ambassador at the moment, but to be honest I’m getting rather sick of him.” He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about moving,” he went on. “I do believe I might rather like to find somewhere to...well, settle, on a somewhat more permanent basis, but since the ambassador is here at the moment, he’ll be expecting me to stay.”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

“Honestly?” Aziraphale half-smiled. “I briefly considered the New World, after that chap Columbus came back from there - was he one of ours, or one of yours?”

Crowley shrugged. “Not sure.”

“You don’t think Livinia might have-”

“Definitely not. Livinia’s very hands-on; she doesn’t influence anything she can’t see.”

“Practical of her. Anyway, things are a bit of a mess over there now, so I thought I might try England. I don’t really know why, but I’ve always felt drawn to that place.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “I can see where it might be nice to have a...home base, as it were,” he said. “Maybe I’ll try it out too.”

“Of course, I’d also thought about France,” Aziraphale mused.

“Maybe you could spend one century in England and one in France, and then decide which you like better,” Crowley suggested.

“Hm,” said Aziraphale. “You may be on to something there, dear boy.” He closed his book and smiled at Crowley. “Do you fancy taking a walk in the garden? There are a few things related to the Arrangement I’d like to talk about.”

“Sure,” Crowley agreed. He followed Aziraphale outside into the fresh air. The palace gardens were large and elaborate, and still beautiful even though it would be winter soon. The angel and the demon walked through them together, close but not touching, and Crowley’s skin seemed to itch with the desire to put a hand on Aziraphale’s arm, or the smooth, exposed back of his neck…

  
Aziraphale sighed. “It really is a shame I have to keep working with the ambassador as long as he’s here,” he said. “Now that I’ve got the idea in my head to leave, I’d like to get on with it.”

“Well, if you do, let me know,” Crowley said. “After all, I have to be able to find you. For the Arrangement’s sake, I mean.” He felt himself flush.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. “Speaking of which…”

Crowley listened to Aziraphale as the angel described his assignments from Heaven and they continued walking through the garden together. A few days later, Ambassador Pedro de Ayala was unexpectedly sent to Flanders, and an angel, now free of his obligations, moved to London. A demon followed shortly afterward, never mentioning to the angel the small, extra miracle he’d performed. 


	2. Love You Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to teach Livinia to drive, then goes to spend the evening with Aziraphale at the bookshop.

Liverpool, England, 1989

"Turn left! _Left!"_ Crowley shouted as someone blared their horn behind them.

"Which way is left?" Livinia cried, her eyes flashing back and forth.

 _"This_ way!" Crowley yelled, reaching over and pulling the steering wheel to the left. Livinia leaned her body into the turn, moving her hands on the wheel, and the car stopped.

"Don't take your foot off the gas!" Crowley roared. "Step on it; there's someone behind us!"

Livinia stepped on the gas, and the car leapt forward.

"Good, now keep it steady. _Steady_ , Livinia; we're going straight. Give it a little more gas, come on; you're a demon, drive like one!"

Livinia accelerated, and the car moved down the street.

"Alright, now stop," Crowley instructed, as they approached an intersection. "Brake. _Brake!_ You can't just blow onto the motorway like-"

"You told me to drive like a demon!" Livinia protested.

"A demon that doesn't _crash_ ," Crowley emphasized.

"If I crash, we can just fix it," Livinia pointed out.

"That's not the _point_ ," Crowley told her, as she pulled out onto the motorway and turned left. He gripped the ceiling with one hand, wondering if this was how Aziraphale felt when _he_ was driving. Crowley supposed, though, that he only had himself to blame for this. After all, it had been his idea to teach Livinia to drive.

The car they were sitting in was a silver 1982 Buick Grand National - Crowley had absolutely refused to let Livinia drive his Bentley - that they'd "borrowed" from a casino parking lot. Livinia, who didn't actually know anything about cars, had chosen it because she liked silver. They hadn't, of course, needed keys to drive it.

"I don't like this," Livinia said, gripping the wheel tightly. "Why do you like this?"

Crowley shrugged. "It's fun?"

“Not without music, it's not. Put the radio on,” Livinia ordered. Crowley obliged, and Queen’s “It’s a Hard Life” began to play.

“Ah, now _this_ is a tune,” Livinia said. She sped up, and the car moved easily down the motorway.

Crowley spared a fond glance for her. Despite her driving, he liked having her around. She’d come up from Hell to check on a few things and perform a few temptations, but she’d stayed longer than she normally did because, as she said, she quite liked this decade’s music. Crowley had to admit that it was nice to have someone he wasn’t in love with to talk to once in a while. It was true that he never got bored talking to Aziraphale, but there were some things you just didn’t say to the being you’d been carrying a torch for for the better part of six thousand years…and by now, Livinia had heard every single one.

 _“True lovers together,”_ Livinia sang under her breath, _“to love and live forever in each other’s hearts…”_

Livinia was the only demon Crowley had ever met who had a decent singing voice. Most demons, if they tried to sing, just sounded like cats choking on broken glass. It was for this reason that, where angels generally didn’t dance, demons generally didn’t sing.

“Am I exiting here?” Livinia asked, nodding her head toward an exit on the far right side of the road.

“No,” Crowley replied. “Keep going.”

Livinia drummed her fingernails on the surface of the wheel. “This guy in front of me is too slow,” she complained.

“Pass him,” said Crowley. “Indicate first – indicate right, not left – _the other way, Livinia; we’re in the left lane!”_

Livinia indicated right and moved the car into the right lane. She gunned the accelerator and smoothly drifted around the other car, pulling back into the leftmost lane.

“Well done,” Crowley said.

Livinia whooped and pushed the pedal to the floor. “Ok, maybe I understand why you like this,” she said with a smile.

“I told you it’d be fun!”

“Where are we going, anyhow?” Livinia asked.

Crowley shrugged. “I didn’t think we were really going anywhere.”

“Probably just as well,” Livinia said. “I kind of got a message from Below today.”

“They didn’t call you back, did they?”

“Not exactly. More like they’re transferring me.”

“Where to?”

“They want me in New Zealand, of all places. Apparently a lot of angels have been moving down there lately. I’m supposed to go balance them out.”

Crowley whistled. “That’s a mad one.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How long for?” Crowley asked.

“Dunno. Hopefully not long. Then I’ll probably have to go back to Hell.”

“That’s shit,” said Crowley.

“I know! No more driving lessons.” Livinia pouted.

As self-respecting demons, this interaction was the closest they would ever permit themselves to come to saying they would miss each other, but since they _were_ both demons and had known each other for millennia, they each heard the other’s message loud and clear.

“I’ll be on my way tonight,” Livinia said.

“I…kind of have plans this evening too,” replied Crowley.

“Hm. No need to tell me who with.”

“Shut up,” mumbled Crowley, suddenly moody. He rubbed his forehead with one hand.

“Oh, come on; it’s a good thing! I think it’s nice that you two have been spending so much more time together lately.”

Crowley drew in a deep breath, then let it out. He would never say that spending time with Aziraphale was a bad thing – quite the contrary – but because Crowley was desperately in love with him, sometimes it was difficult to be around him without grabbing him and kissing him, or confessing the years of desire he’d built up.

“Take the next exit on the right,” Crowley directed. “Let’s have a drink before you go.”

Livinia nodded and indicated, correctly this time, before exiting the motorway. They pulled into the parking lot of a pub Crowley liked, and Livinia got out of the car. She studied it for a moment, then glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Satisfied that nobody was, she snapped her fingers, and the car vanished.

“Where’d you send it?” Crowley asked.

“The gaming floor of the casino we took it from. Somebody’s gonna win it!”

Crowley grinned. “Nice one.” He nodded toward the pub. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Crowley’s back and shoulders were stiff and achy when he got out of his Bentley outside Aziraphale’s bookshop. He’d driven for over three hours, from Liverpool back to London, dropped Livinia off at the main entrance to Hell, and was now ready to spend some time with Aziraphale.

To Crowley’s surprise, the smell of alcohol hit him when he entered the angel’s bookshop. He and Aziraphale hadn’t planned to drink (though he supposed he was game for it, if they angel was) but he sniffed the air appreciatively, detecting the scent of red wine.

“Aziraphale?” he called into the shop. “Are you here?”

“In here,” came Aziraphale’s voice from the back room. Crowley followed it and found his friend sitting at his desk, wearing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, a glass of wine in front of him.

“What’s going on?” Crowley asked. “I didn’t know it was going to be _that_ kind of evening.”

Aziraphale rubbed a hand over his face. The ring he always wore on his fourth finger caught the light for a moment. “I apologize, dear boy,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a mood tonight.”

“Are you alright?” Crowley sat down on the couch.

Aziraphale sighed. “I had a sort of…visitor today,” he said glumly.

“More aggressive customers?” Crowley asked. He rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles were uncomfortably tight.

Aziraphale zeroed in on the motion of Crowley’s hand. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“A bit stiff is all,” Crowley said. “Been driving for a while.”

“Oh, well, I can help with that,” Aziraphale said. “Would you like a quick touch of angelic healing? Shouldn’t be too much of a problem to make you feel better.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “If you’re offering,” he said. He was a bit surprised that Aziraphale was volunteering to perform a relatively frivolous miracle just for his sake, but he wasn’t about to pry and ruin it.

“I am,” said Aziraphale. “Jacket off, please.”

Crowley peeled off his jacket and removed the scarf from around his neck for good measure. “What now?”

“Turn towards the couch, put your back to me…that’s it. Now just sit still.”

Crowley did as he was told, and after a moment a wave of warmth seemed to pass over his skin, sinking into his muscles, pushing the tension out. Crowley relaxed and breathed out slowly as his body loosened up. The sensation was wonderful, and he could sense Aziraphale’s influence in it, almost as if the angel were massaging him. When the warmth passed, Crowley felt calmer, sleepier, and – if he was being honest – rather aroused.

“How was that?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley turned himself back around toward the angel and crossed his legs a little awkwardly. That really _had_ been quite…stimulating. “Thanks, angel,” he said. “That felt nice.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Don’t mention it,” he said.

Crowley sighed and stretched his arms over his head, cracked his knuckles. “I mean, that was _really_ nice,” he repeated, leaning back into the couch. “But you were saying? Did you get a visit from aggressive customers?”

Aziraphale seemed to deflate, as if he’d been hoping that Crowley would forget about their previous conversation and move on. “In a manner of speaking,” he replied.

Crowley looked at him blankly, not catching on.

“Angels,” Aziraphale said simply.

“Ah.” Crowley stood up and went to fetch a wineglass for himself. “Well, in that case I’m not about to let you drink alone.”

Aziraphale poured him a glass, and Crowley clinked it against Aziraphale’s before taking a large gulp. “What did the angels want?” he asked, before returning to the couch.

Aziraphale shifted uneasily in his chair. He stared into his wine, not saying a word, for several long moments. Crowley began to get worried. “Aziraphale?”

Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to do, Aziraphale set his wineglass back down and got gingerly to his feet. Crowley immediately saw that something wasn’t right: he was favoring his right leg, and he couldn’t seem to straighten his back. Leaning on the desk, he limped to the couch and collapsed next to Crowley. Just going that slight distance seemed to have sapped his energy.

Crowley was sitting ramrod straight, on high alert. “What did they do to you?” he demanded.

“Sandalphon and Jeremiel came for my sword,” Aziraphale said.

“The flaming sword?”

“That’s the one.” He began unbuttoning the cuff on his right sleeve. “Wanted to use it for some kind of…smiting mission. They were…well, a bit put out when I said I didn’t have it.”

“They hurt you,” Crowley said darkly.

“They were rather rougher than I thought was strictly necessary, yes.”

“Let me see,” Crowley said. His voice was hoarse but firm.

“Crowley, please-”

“Please, angel, let me help,” Crowley said. "You helped me, and I barely even needed it." 

“I don’t think you can, my dear. I don’t believe a demon can heal an angel.”

“Not with my powers, maybe. But with human methods I should be able to do something. Just let me see.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for several seconds before he slowly, carefully unbuttoned his waistcoat, then his shirt. When he pulled the fabric aside, it revealed a massive, ugly black-and-purple bruise that spread from his ribs to his lower abdomen.

Crowley hissed indignantly when he saw it and pushed himself off the couch. He moved swiftly to Aziraphale’s kitchen and started getting a heating pad ready. “Let me put on some music, angel,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. He snapped his fingers, and the third movement of Bach’s Brandenburg concerto filled the bookshop. Crowley let the sounds wash over him, calming him down. His blood seemed to simmer with anger, but his first priority had to be taking care of Aziraphale.

Crowley found some gauze bandages and tape in a drawer, then came back over to Aziraphale and carefully wrapped them around his middle, covering the bruise and compressing it. Aziraphale sat perfectly still, barely flinching as he worked. Neither of them said a word as Crowley retrieved the heating pad and laid it over Aziraphale’s stomach, keeping his hand on top of it as Aziraphale took a deep, shaky breath and relaxed beneath it.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he said softly.

Crowley didn’t reply. He just slid close to Aziraphale, his body seeming to prickle with electricity where the lines of his body touched those of the angel’s. _Please, please, please don’t pull away._

Aziraphale didn’t pull away. Instead, he rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

The wine was forgotten, perhaps because it wasn’t so good after all, or perhaps because neither of them really felt like they needed a drink anymore.


	3. Always Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets drunk and finally admits that he's in love with Aziraphale. Livinia supports him the only way she knows how.

California, United States, 1850

  
Livinia had been on Earth for two years. It was the most time she’d ever spent there at a stretch, without returning to Hell, and she was quite enjoying herself. When someone had discovered gold in the California territory of the United States, she’d come up with the (rather excellent, if she did say so herself) idea of inventing the fake stuff – something that looked like gold, but wasn’t really gold at all. The humans had taken to calling it Fool’s Gold, which Livinia thought was apt, and she’d sat back and watched the chaos unfold. It was tremendous fun, and she’d gotten a commendation for it from Below.

  
After a while she’d decided to look Crowley up, as she usually did when she was on Earth, and ask him if he wanted to come and visit her. He’d never been to America before – mad, since he’d lived on the planet nearly since time immemorial – but Livinia supposed he liked to stay in Europe to be close to his angel.

  
In any case, Crowley had agreed, and was now staying with Livinia at her cabin. When she got back there one afternoon, after a day of dropping temptations – not that she really needed to, in this environment – she found Crowley half passed out on her couch, drunk off his head and staring at the ceiling.

  
“Linia!” Crowley slurred when she opened the door and came inside, reaching his hand out to her – the hand that wasn’t clutching a half-full bottle of gin. “How’re you doin’?”

  
“I’m fine, Crowley. How’re _you_ doin’?” she imitated him.

  
“’m _shitfaced_ ,” Crowley announced, taking another swig from the bottle.

  
“I can see that. Any particular reason?”

  
Crowley ignored, or perhaps didn’t hear, her question. “Linia,” he said again, his head lolling back, hands gesturing wildly with the gin bottle, spilling some of the liquid onto the floor. Livinia miracled it back into the bottle with a careless wave of her hand.

  
 _“Linia,”_ Crowley repeated forcefully, clearly trying to get her attention.

  
“What?” Livinia asked.

  
“’veyeverkissnjel?”

  
_“What?”_

  
Crowley bit his lip, seemed to collect his thoughts, and asked “’ve y’ever kissed ‘n angel?”

  
“No, Crowley. I’ve never kissed an angel.” She made her way around the cabin, examining the empty liquor bottles. “Have you?” she asked, hoping he’d say yes and tell her how he’d finally gotten together with Aziraphale, knowing he probably wouldn’t.

  
“Noooo,” Crowley said. “But I wanna.”

  
Livinia sighed. “I know you do, Crowley,” she said softly. 

  
“D’you know which angel I wanna kiss?”

  
“Can I have three guesses?”

  
“’s Aziraphale.”

  
“You don’t say.”

  
“What d’you reckon they kiss like, angels?” Crowley asked, leaning forward with the gin still in his hand, the other hand on his knee for support.

  
Livinia began looking around in her cupboard for something to eat. Tempting humans did make her work up such an appetite. “I don’t know,” she said. “I never really thought about it. I suppose kissing humans was always good enough for me. But they’re angels, so one imagines they’d be pretty good at it.”

  
Crowley put the gin down with a thump and got unsteadily to his feet. He began pacing restlessly but clumsily around the room. “Good at it…” he mused, then turned his yellow eyes back to Livinia. “Who was your best kiss?” he asked, leaning against the wall and fidgeting.

  
“Well, let me see, now.” Livinia took the place Crowley had vacated on the couch, a plate of cheese and crackers in her hand. “Thomas Paine, maybe? He was excellent.”

  
“Who?”

  
Livinia rolled her eyes. “Do you pay attention to anything, Crowley? The author of _Common Sense_ and _The American Crisis_?”

  
“Never heard of’m.”

  
“You liar.” Livinia ate one of her crackers. She held the plate out to Crowley, who waved a hand to decline it.

  
“Aziraphale likes t’read,” Crowley said. “I bet he read those…those books.”

  
“Maybe,” Livinia said, “but isn’t he more into religious stuff?” 

  
Crowley didn’t answer. He pushed off the wall and continued his aimless wandering. “D’you have any more gin?”

  
“There’s still half a bottle here,” Livinia pointed out. She was pretty sure that it would be best if Crowley sobered up, but she didn't tell him so. Far be it from her to judge him for the way he coped with his feelings.

  
“He’s so _pretty_ ,” Crowley rambled, pushing his hands through his hair as though he needed something to hold onto. “Don’t you think he’s pretty, Linia?”

  
“My name is Livinia,” Livinia reminded him.

  
“’s what I said.” Crowley reached up to touch the low ceiling, dragging one finger along it. Livinia was about to warn him when – “Ow!” he cried, pulling his hand back and cradling it with the other hand. “It’s a spinner. A linter. A-”

  
“A splinter,” Livinia supplied.

  
“Right, that.”

  
Livinia sighed. “And that, children, is why we don’t touch rough wood with our bare hands.” She set her plate aside and stood up. She guided Crowley to the couch and made him sit down before she carefully miracled the splinter out of his finger, not trusting him to do it himself in his current state.

  
“Thanks,” Crowley muttered, leaning back. He put his injured finger in his mouth and sucked on it for a moment. “Gimme the bottle, wouldja?” he requested.

  
Wordlessly, Livinia complied, and he took a long drink. He held the bottle out toward her. “Wan’ some?”

  
“No, thanks.” Livinia pulled her plate back onto her lap and was about to eat another cracker when Crowley did a sudden nosedive onto her shoulder, his forehead smacking her jaw, and began shaking violently.

  
“Oh, Crowley,” Livinia said quietly. She put the plate aside again and carefully placed one hand on the back of Crowley’s neck. As a demon, being comforting wasn’t her strong suit, but Crowley was her friend, and so she did her best.

  
Demons were not able to produce tears, even in human form, and so they could not really be said to cry, but they were absolutely able to sob, and that was what Crowley was doing now, his face buried in the dip between Livinia’s shoulder and her collarbone. His body was racked with the force of his sobs, and Livinia stayed perfectly still, letting him get it all out, not interfering.

  
“I love him, Livinia,” Crowley said, his voice muffled. “I love him, I love him.”

  
Livinia blinked hard. She’d known for ages that Crowley loved the angel, Aziraphale, but this was the first time she’d ever heard him say it out loud. Her fingers clenched on the back of his neck, and she was pretty sure that, if she were able to tear up, she would have done so in that moment.

  
“I know,” she assured him. “I know you do.”

  
“Demons’re not even _s’posed_ t’love,” Crowley said miserably. “How’d this ‘appen, huh?”

  
“I think we all retain the capacity to love, even after we Fall,” Livinia said. Satan knew she’d loved a few humans in her time, Thomas Paine included. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  
“Feels like a bad thing,” Crowley muttered. “Hurts like a sonofabitch.” 

  
There was a pause, and then Livinia said “You might feel better if you sobered up. You don’t have to, though; it’s up to you.”

  
Crowley didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then Livinia felt him shiver as he miracled the alcohol out of his system. He took his face out of her shoulder and sat up straight beside her, rubbing at his forehead. “Sorry,” he said.

  
“It’s fine.” Livinia ate another one of her crackers, letting Crowley come back to himself. After a moment, she asked “Do you think you’ll ever tell him?”

  
Crowley laughed bitterly, humorlessly. “Maybe at the end of the world,” he replied.

  
Livinia nodded briefly. “Sounds like as good a time as any.” 


	4. Always Will

London, England, 1 Year After the Almost-Apocalypse

 

Crowley took a long, deep breath, his eyes closed, and focused on the feeling of Livinia's fingers brushing his neck as she adjusted his collar. He exhaled slowly, bit his lip, clenched and unclenched his hands, doing whatever he could think of with the nervous energy that was thrumming through him.

  
"You're shaking," Livinia said, and Crowley opened his eyes to look at her. She was wearing a light gray dress with a pink carnation pinned to the front, and her hair was scooped up onto the back of her head in a messily pretty bun. Crowley would never have told her so, for fear she might take it the wrong way, but he couldn't help thinking that she looked like an angel. An angel as humans pictured them.

  
Crowley swallowed hard as Livinia retrieved his tie from a nearby chair and looped it around his neck. "I'm nervous," he admitted.

  
"From what I understand, it's normal to be nervous on your wedding day," Livinia said reassuringly as she began to tie his tie.

  
"For mortals, maybe," Crowley muttered. "For a 6,000-plus year old demon it's a bit ridiculous."

  
Livinia made a graceful little gesture, shrugging with one shoulder while tilting her head toward it. "Well, it _is_ your first wedding," she said. "Something you've never done before. I think you can be forgiven for being a tad anxious." She pulled his tie too tight, and Crowley made a surprised choking noise.

  
"Sorry," Livinia said quickly, adjusting the tie to make it looser.

  
"Strangle me on the most important day of my life, why don't you," Crowley commented dryly.

  
"Oh, you're fine." Livinia stepped back and looked at him critically, and then, too quickly to allow for protest, she pushed her fingers through his hair and rather aggressively messed it up.

  
"Ahh! What the Heaven are you-"

  
"That's better," Livinia said, pulling back to look at him again. She snapped her fingers to conjure a mirror and held it up for Crowley to see. "Now it looks perfect."

  
Crowley looked, and even he had to admit that his hair now had a pleasantly careless look to it. "I suppose it'll do," he said.

  
Livinia grinned. "Now for the finishing touch." She retrieved a small box from the chair and opened it, revealing a boutonniere with a single red rose. Carefully, she pinned it to Crowley's lapel.

  
"You look good," Livinia smiled. "Aziraphale is gonna fall through the floor when he sees you."

  
Crowley grimaced. "I hope not. I don't want him to end up back you-know-where."

  
Livinia frowned. "What do you mean, _back_ you-know-where?"

  
Crowley mentally blessed himself for his slip of the tongue. After the Almost-Apocalypse, he and Aziraphale had switched bodies in order to survive trials in Heaven and Hell, during which he was supposed to have been executed by holy water, and Aziraphale by hellfire. They had never told anyone the truth about how they'd emerged unscathed from their ordeals, not even Livinia, who had not been so lucky.

  
Livinia had been present at Aziraphale-as-Crowley's trial, and Hastur, one of the Dukes of Hell, had decided to test the holy water out on her because of her friendship with Crowley. He hadn't used enough to destroy her, just a drop, but it had left an angry red scar down her arm that had never faded and probably never would.

  
Crowley looked at the scar, which Livinia wasn't even trying to hide, and mumbled something about Aziraphale having been to Hell a long time ago. Livinia looked skeptical, but she let it pass.

  
Crowley looked out the window. He could see his beloved Bentley, parked next to Livinia's silver Corvette, and he realized that it was raining. "Shit!" he groaned. "I know this is Britain, but why did the weather have to be shit _today_?"

  
"I've heard that rain on your wedding day is supposed to be good luck," Livinia said. "Besides, the wedding is indoors. It'll be fine." She gave Crowley a final once-over. "You ready?"

  
"I think so."

  
"You know, I'm proud of you, Crowley," Livinia said. "I never thought you'd agree to marry Aziraphale. It's such a human ritual."

  
Crowley shrugged. "It was his idea,” he said. “And anyway, I'm planning on being with Aziraphale forever. I want to be committed to him in every way possible. That includes human ways."

  
"That's so sweet, I might be sick." Livinia gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "But I'm weirdly happy about it. I'll be smiling between bouts of vomiting." 

  
"You know it never would've happened without you." It was true. Aziraphale, desperate and frightened, had told Crowley that they ought to join their respective sides for the battle during the Almost-Apocalypse. It had been Livinia who'd convinced a brokenhearted Crowley to tell Aziraphale how he really felt, and who'd persuaded Aziraphale to listen.

  
Livinia shrugged, and Crowley would have thought she was blushing, were it not for the fact that demons didn't blush. *****

  
"You have the rings?" Crowley asked.

  
"What do you take me for? Of course I have the rings." Livinia patted the satchel slung across her body. "Shall we?"

  
"Yeah." Crowley took another deep breath. Livinia reached out and squeezed his hand. "You’ve got this," she said, and together they walked out into the main part of the registry office.

  
They didn't have many guests. A few loyal customers of Aziraphale's bookshop with whom he'd become friendly over the years, Newt and Anathema (who would be serving beside Livinia as their second witness), and Kevin, Livinia's human boyfriend, whom Crowley had (quite graciously, he thought) allowed her to invite. He'd resolved to keep a close eye on the bloke, though. Crowley was aware that Livinia was more than capable of taking care of herself, but still, he'd be damned again if he was going to let anyone screw with her.

  
They'd invited Sergeant Shadwell and the former Madame Tracy, but they were enjoying their new cottage in Scotland too thoroughly to make the trip, and Adam Young and his crew hadn't been able to get a ride to London, but they'd all sent their best.

  
Crowley's heart was pounding as he walked up the aisle, arm-in-arm with Livinia. Aziraphale was already standing in front with the registrar and Anathema, looking so gorgeous in his white tuxedo that Crowley couldn't breathe for a moment. Anathema, like Livinia, was wearing gray, but a darker shade, and she gave Crowley a smile and a hello as he approached. 

  
"Good morning," the registrar said. "This is the other groom, and our second witness?"

  
"That's right," Livinia said. She shook the registrar's hand. "I'm Livinia."

  
Crowley also shook the hand of the man who would marry him to Aziraphale, and somehow managed to introduce himself while staring fixedly into his soon-to-be husband's gorgeous blue eyes. Aziraphale was smiling broadly when he took Crowley's hands in his, and the sight was breathtaking.

  
The registrar welcomed the guests and gave his introduction, then asked Aziraphale to start the vows.

  
"I do solemnly declare," Aziraphale began, his voice steady as he gazed at Crowley, "that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Aziraphale, may not be joined in matrimony to Anthony Crowley. I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Aziraphale, do take thee, Crowley, to be my lawfully wedded husband." He smiled, then launched into his own vows: “Crowley, my love, from our first meeting in that _garden_ -” a secret little grin flickered across his face “-I knew that you were something unique. Every time we had a chance encounter after that, I was happy to see you, and enjoyed spending time with you, but it took a long, _long_ time for me to realize why, exactly, that was.” Crowley saw him swallow before he went on. “When you saved my books, I realized that you truly understood me and cared about me enough to respect something that I loved. For a long time after that, I was afraid of how I was feeling, but now that I have nothing to be afraid of anymore, I unreservedly commit myself to you.”

  
He turned to Livinia, who reached into her satchel and pulled out a silver band, which Aziraphale took and slipped onto the third finger of Crowley’s left hand. “With this ring,” he said, “I thee wed.”

  
Crowley sucked in air. His turn. He repeated the formal vows that Aziraphale had said before, and then began the extra vows that Livinia had helped him write: “Aziraphale, I love you. I love you so much that sometimes I think it’ll kill me. Maybe it will one day." He shrugged, and Aziraphale's perfect, angelic smile widened. Crowley could see tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat and continued: "But in the meantime, I want to commit myself to you, completely and wholeheartedly. I've wanted you for so long that it's hard for me to believe we're finally here, but I couldn't be happier about it. I'd move Heaven and Hell to make you happy-" at that, Aziraphale gave a tearful little chuckle "-and that's what I plan to spend the rest of forever doing. It's the least I can do for your kindness, your affection, and your love. I adore you, my angel." He felt Livinia press the ring into his hand, and he put it carefully onto Aziraphale's finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."

  
The registrar declared that they were now married, and Crowley was allowed to kiss his new husband. The kiss was gentle and tender, and when Aziraphale reached up to cup Crowley's face, Crowley put his hand over his to feel the angel's wedding ring under his fingers.

  
For the final step, Aziraphale, Crowley, Livinia, Anathema, and the registrar had to sign the marriage documents, after which the registrar shook all their hands again and congratulated the couple. Aziraphale was properly crying now, and Livinia was smiling wider than Crowley had ever seen her smile.

  
In the flurry of congratulations and handshakes that followed, Crowley never let go of Aziraphale’s hand. Kevin, accommodatingly, shook his left hand. He was a clean-cut looking chap with short dark hair and glasses - not really what Crowley thought of as Livinia’s type, but whatever made her happy, he supposed. “Congratulations, Anthony,” he said with a friendly smile.

  
“Thank you,” Crowley replied, watching with an indulgent smile as Aziraphale stifled a sob in Anathema’s shoulder when she hugged him. Livinia, with a little spring in her step, moved to stand next to Kevin, who kissed her on the temple. Newt came to gently extricate his wife from Aziraphale’s embrace, and Aziraphale began enthusiastically introducing Crowley to his bookshop friends, all of whose names he forgot immediately after hearing them, too distracted by how wonderful it was to hear Aziraphale say "This is my husband, Anthony Crowley..."

  
“To the Ritz?” Livinia asked after a few minutes. “I think the next couple is getting ready to come in.”

  
“The reception’s at the Ritz?” Kevin asked, eyes wide with surprise. “Nice. How’d you swing that?”

  
Livinia shrugged. “A miracle?” She grinned at Crowley, who smiled back.

  
Crowley reached out with his free hand and pulled her close. “Thanks, Linia,” he said, using the silly nickname she’d acquired back in 1850 when drunkenness had made him screw up her name. A lot of demons called her Liv, but Crowley didn’t like to call her that for precisely that reason. “For everything.”

  
Livinia squeezed his hand. “Just promise you won’t stop hanging out with me now that you're a married man.”

  
“Never,” Crowley promised.

  
“Good.” Livinia let go of his hand and took hold of Kevin’s. “We’re off to the Ritz, everybody!” she announced. “If anyone needs a ride, you’re all welcome in my car!”

  
Their guests filed out the door, and Crowley seized the chance to have a moment with Aziraphale. They fell into an easy embrace, their arms wrapped tight around each other. Crowley could feel his husband trembling.

  
“I love you,” Aziraphale said, his face pressed into Crowley’s neck. “So unbelievably much.”

  
“And now you’re my husband,” Crowley said, “which means you have to stay with me forever.”

  
“You’ll hear no complaints from me.” Aziraphale kissed him firmly on the lips. “It’s amazing how, even after 6,000 years, I can still feel things I never knew existed. This joy, this _gratitude_...it’s more than I’ve ever felt. It’s brand new.” He looked lovingly at Crowley and reached up to stroke his face. “I’ve read a lot of love stories, dear boy. A _lot_. And I honestly think ours is the best one.”

  
“That’s just because it’s the longest.”

  
Aziraphale laughed. “I am sorry for that, my dear. Sorry it took so long.”

  
Crowley shook his head. “Don’t ever be sorry for anything related to us. We got here in the end.” He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “I love you, angel.”

  
“I love you too, my Crowley.” He flashed that gorgeous smile again. “The Ritz?”

  
“The Ritz.” Crowley kissed him one more time. “Let’s go.”

  
***** They certainly did, but admitting that would have meant admitting that Crowley himself sometimes blushed, which he was not prepared to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this fic! Thanks to everyone who read, subscribed, commented, bookmarked, and left kudos! Your support is much appreciated.  
> If you haven't read it already, my other Good Omens fic, entitled "Alpha Centauri", contains more detail about what happened during the Apocawasn't - how Livinia brought Aziraphale and Crowley together in the end, as well as what happened at Crowley's trial. Be sure to give it a read if you enjoyed "Permanent"!  
> Also be sure to leave a comment and/or kudos here, if you haven't already! You'll make my day! I'm especially interested in what you thought of my OC, Livinia.  
> Hope to see you in the next fic! 
> 
> -Julia


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Welcome back to Permanent :) I couldn't stop thinking about this scenario, so I added it on. More about what happened to Crowley, Aziraphale, and Livinia before and just after the Ineffable Wedding. 
> 
> Enjoy!

London, England, 3 Months After the Almost-Apocalypse

"Come in, my dear," Aziraphale said, taking Livinia's jacket at the door. He hung it up next to his own and gestured for her to sit in one of his armchairs, which she did.

He couldn't deny that he was a trifle nervous. He and Livinia got along quite well, but they were rarely together without Crowley, who, as Aziraphale's newly-minted lover and Livinia's best friend, was the main connection between them. However, in the three months since she'd moved up to Earth more or less permanently, Aziraphale had gotten to know her much better and had developed an affection for her that was entirely his own, separate from his appreciation of her friendship with Crowley.

And so, what he was about to do, he wasn't doing for Crowley. He was doing it for her.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” Livinia replied.

“I believe you prefer white wine.”

“I do.”

“What kind would you like? I have Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Riesling, Pinot Grigio, Roussanne…”

“Chardonnay is fine.”

Aziraphale poured her a glass and handed it to her. Livinia nodded her thanks.

Aziraphale sat down across from her and folded his hands in his lap. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment.

"Um," Livinia said. "Are you…not having a drink?"

"No, no, dear. But you go ahead!"

Not about to turn down the offer, Livinia took a healthy sip of her wine.

"My dear," Aziraphale began. He rubbed his hands together. "I asked you here because...well, I have a matter to discuss with you."

"Is this about Crowley?"

"No. Well, in a way, I suppose. But it's much more about you."

"Me?"

"You." Aziraphale made a motion in the air as if he were about to deliver a great oration. "Livinia, you're an intelligent woman - er, demon. I'm sure it's occurred to you, since the trials in Heaven and Hell, that you might be in danger."

Livinia stared at him with her mouth slightly open for a moment. This was obviously not where she'd been expecting the conversation to go. "Yes," she said quietly. "It has."

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you why."

"Heaven and Hell wanted to off you and Crowley. They failed. If they decide to look for a new target, I'm the obvious choice." She nodded. "I thought of that a long time ago."

"You never said anything."

Livinia shrugged. "I guess I was just trying to hope nothing would happen."

"And it's possible that nothing will. But in case it does, there's something I want you to have." Aziraphale stood up and went over to a locked box that was sitting on his table. He opened it with a key from the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small, tartan-patterned thermos.

He went over to Livinia's chair and held it out to her. She took it, staring at him over it. "What is it?" she asked.

"Holy water," Aziraphale replied.

Livinia's eyes widened. She stared at the thermos. "Holy water," she repeated. "You're giving me holy water."

"In case anyone from, er, Downstairs tries anything." Aziraphale leaned down to look into her stunned black eyes. "I know we don't have a lot of history together, but I care for you very much, Livinia. I consider you a friend. And I know that it would utterly destroy the man I love if anything were to happen to you. So I'm giving you the means to protect yourself, should it ever come to that." He sat back down and folded his hands.

Livinia stroked one hand over the top of the thermos, then absently touched her right arm, where she still bore the scar Hastur had given her at Crowley's trial, when he'd burned her with the very same substance that was in the thermos. She gazed at Aziraphale. "Thank you," she croaked, her voice tight with emotion. "Really, Aziraphale, thank you."

"You're welcome." Aziraphale managed a small smile. "I sincerely hope you never need it."

  
1 Year Later

It had been a long time since Crowley had had a visitor from Hell. Since the trial he'd worried that an old-guard demon would show up to kill him, beat him bloody, threaten him, or at the very least, mock him for having fallen in love with and married an angel. His deepest fear, however, wasn't for himself at all. It was for Livinia.

Livinia had settled into her earthly life quite well. She'd found herself a flat, a car, and even a boyfriend. She was, as far as Crowley could tell, happy. But Crowley had never been able to relax where she was concerned. He worried constantly that someone would try to hurt him by hurting her.

It was for this reason that, when Lord Beelzebub showed up at his flat, Crowley's first thought was that it had finally happened: someone had murdered his best friend.  
"Where is she?" Crowley demanded as soon as he opened the door for Beelzebub. The other demon pushed him aside and strode past him into the flat before miracling the door closed behind her.

 _"Where is she?"_ Crowley repeated, staring daggers at Beelzebub. "Listen to me, if you've hurt her, I will end you. I don't care how long it takes, or where I have to go, or what I have to do, or who I upset. If you've taken her away from me, I'll kill you. One way or another. That I promise."

"Oh, spare me the theatrics," Beelzebub growled. "If it's Liv you're talking about, I haven't done anything to her. She's fine."

Crowley's chest was heaving. He felt his lip curl. "Don't call her Liv," he snarled.

"Before you threaten me any further," Beelzebub went on, "you should probably know that I'm here to warn you."

That gave Crowley pause. "Warn me?" he repeated.

Beelzebub sighed. She glanced around the flat. "Don't you have anywhere to sit?"

Crowley stared at her for another moment, then nodded briskly toward the couch. Beelzebub sank onto it and stared up at him, her eyes huge and blue in her endlessly pale face. "Look," she began, then seemed to rethink what she was going to say and said instead "I heard you got married."

"What of it?" Crowley asked, flexing his left hand, on which his wedding ring was plain to see.

Beelzebub shrugged. "How's married life?" She sounded sarcastic, but not completely so.

Still, Crowley scoffed. "Like I'm going to discuss my marriage with you," he growled. "I'd rather talk about Livinia. I haven't forgotten that you lot threw holy water on her."

"Hastur didn't _throw_ it on her," Beelzebub said with a little roll of her eyes."He tested it on her. And you may recall that I was against it."

"Whatever. He could've killed her."

"He could have, and I think he's starting to regret that he didn't," Beelzebub said, looking at Crowley meaningfully.

Crowley stared at her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying he might come up here and try to hurt her." Beelzebub leaned forward. "Look, I've always had a bit of a...soft spot for Liv. I don't want her dead. That's why I'm warning you. Hastur wants revenge on you.You might be immune to holy water now, however the Heaven you managed that, but Liv isn't. He knows that for a fact. He can't hurt you, or your angel, but he can hurt Liv, and I think that's enough to get revenge on you, isn't it, Crowley?"

Crowley clenched his fists, not answering. Next to Aziraphale, Livinia was the most important person in the universe to him, and Beelzebub and Hastur knew that. Crowley didn't have to reconfirm it.

"So," Beelzebub said, spreading her hands, "I'm warning you."

"And that's it?" Crowley asked. "Just a warning? You won't try to stop him or…?"

"If he really wants to try something, I won't be able to stop him. Delay him, maybe, but not stop him. He's nearly as powerful as I am, and he hates you even more than I do."

Something shifted in Crowley's mind at her words.

Delay.

Delay.

 _Delay_.

Was she stalling him?

Crowley shot to his feet. "Get out," he said. Beelzebub raised her eyebrows.

 _"Get out!"_ Crowley shouted.

Beelzebub didn't move, but Crowley had no time to waste. Shaking, he grabbed his car keys and ran out of the flat, leaving the Lord of Hell behind.

* * *

 

  
"Come on, come on, come on!" Crowley growled, racing at top speed down the street, pushing his Bentley as fast as it would go. _Please,_ he thought, _please don't let me be too late. I won't survive it if they've killed her. I really don't think I will._ His knuckles white on the wheel, his body trembling, he began to pray. _Please, God, if there's an ounce of love left in you for your fallen angels, please don't let me be too late. Please don't let them have killed her._

He arrived at Livinia's flat in record time and threw himself out of the car. He ran up the stairs to her place and pounded on the door. "Linia! Linia, open up, please!'

The door flew open. Livinia was standing in the threshold, alive and apparently unharmed. Crowley had never been so relieved in his life.

"Oh, thank Someone!" he cried, and crushed her to him in a hug. Livinia went stiff for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him in turn as Crowley buried his face in her neck. "You're alive, you're alive," he murmured, face pressed against her shoulder.

"Of course I'm alive," Livinia said, sounding confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Crowley couldn't answer, couldn't let her go. Awkwardly, Livinia kicked the door shut. "It's ok, Crowley," she said softly, reassuringly. "I'm ok."

"Beelzebub came to my flat," Crowley wheezed, still holding her tightly against him. "She said Hastur might be planning to do you in. I thought I...you...he could've-"

"Shh. He didn't." Livinia hugged him tighter. "It's ok."

"Livvy?"

Crowley looked up at the sound of the voice. Livinia's boyfriend, Kevin, was standing near the bedroom door, wearing a red robe, his dark hair messy. "Oh, hello, Anthony," he said, upon seeing Crowley. "I'm sorry, I didn't know we were expecting you."

"We weren't," Livinia said, releasing Crowley and giving Kevin a strained smile. "Anthony just needed to, um...talk to me. Alone. Family emergency, you understand."

This explanation-that-was-not-an-explanation made Crowley glad, for once, that Livinia had told Kevin when she'd first met him that she and Crowley were brother and sister. It was close enough to the truth; they'd been created by the same entity around the same time, had many shared experiences, and had an affection for one another that Crowley supposed was sibling-like. It also explained why Livinia had lived in Crowley's flat for a bit when she'd first left Hell behind, as it were, for good.

"Oh, dear," said Kevin. "I do hope it's not too serious. Is your husband alright, Anthony?"

"My-oh, yes, he's fine," Crowley stammered. "He's at the bookshop. Sorry to, um, barge in on you like this. I just...I need to talk to my sister."

"Right. I'll leave you to it," Kevin said.

"Just go back to bed, sweetheart," Livinia said. "Don't worry. I'll be in a bit later."

Kevin nodded and shut the bedroom door.

Livinia pushed Crowley onto the couch and sat beside him. Crowley grabbed her hand, needing to touch her, needing to know she was still there. "What happened?" Livinia asked.

Crowley filled her in on the conversation with Beelzebub. "I was terrified, Linia," he said. "I drove here as fast as I could."

Livinia squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, Crowley," she said.

"Now. But he might still come for you," Crowley hissed. "Linia, I had an idea...I could ask Aziraphale to get you some holy water. In case he ever did show up. Just so you'd have something to protect yourself, if Aziraphale and I can't protect you. It'd make me feel a lot better, to know you had it. What do you think?"

Livinia stared at him for a moment, her black eyes soft. Then she stood up. "Let me show you something," she said. "Wait here a moment."

She went into the bedroom, and Crowley waited tensely, not liking her being out of his sight. His heart was still pounding, his hands still shaking. Nervously, he began twisting his wedding ring around his finger.

He heard Livinia murmuring something, presumably to Kevin, and then saw her emerge from the bedroom holding a familiar thermos.

Crowley's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Livinia shut the bedroom door and sat beside Crowley again. "Your husband gave me this a few months after the world almost ended," she said. "I don't think I need to tell you what it is."

Crowley shook his head slowly. "Holy water," he whispered, voice cracking. "He gave you…?"

Livinia nodded.

Crowley smiled. He took the thermos out of Livinia's hand and placed it carefully on the table, then pulled his best friend into his arms again. "Don't hesitate," he said into her ear. "If Hastur comes, if _anyone_ comes, don't hesitate to use it. You don't deserve to die for what Aziraphale and I did, and losing you would kill me, Linia. You know that, don't you?"

Livinia nodded, hugging him back. "I know, Crowley," she said softly. "I know."

* * *

 

  
Crowley drove back to the bookshop about an hour later with Livinia riding shotgun and Kevin in the backseat. He hadn’t been able to stomach leaving Livinia alone after Beelzebub’s warning, so he'd invited her and Kevin to his. He wanted, though, to talk to Aziraphale first.

The bookshop was open, but Crowley found Aziraphale immediately and grabbed his arm, as Kevin and Livinia went off to browse. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" he breathed into his husband’s ear.

"Excuse me, Mr. Richards," Aziraphale said, with a polite smile at the man he'd been talking to. "Oh, this is my husband, Anthony Crowley. I'm just going to have a quick word with him, please do excuse me a moment."

"Not a problem at all, Mr. Fell," the man called Mr. Richards said. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley," he added. He offered a handshake, and Crowley briefly accepted it.

"Sorry," Crowley apologized. "It'll only be a moment." He took Aziraphale's hand and led him toward the back room. Behind him, he heard Mr. Richards cheerfully say "You see, I _told_ you he was gay!" to someone.

As soon as they reached the back room, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and kissed him. The surprised angel took a moment to respond, but eventually kissed him back.

Crowley broke away, then threw his arms around his husband's neck and began sobbing into his collar.

"Oh, my dear!" Aziraphale cried, hugging him. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Thank you, angel," Crowley said through his sobs. "Thank you for protecting her. I love you. I love you so much."

Aziraphale needed no explanation; he understood right away who Crowley was talking about. "Oh, darling," he said, stroking Crowley's hair. "I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed the fic? Let me know! :)


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